


Night on the Gudrin River

by rhapsodie



Series: Stolen Sunshine [3]
Category: Pathfinder: Kingmaker (Video Game)
Genre: Aasimar Baroness, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Idiots in Love, Mutual Pining, Near Death Experiences, Nights In Katapesh, Not Beta Read, Pining, Pre-Relationship, Sappy, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-24
Updated: 2020-07-24
Packaged: 2021-03-05 00:43:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25495558
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rhapsodie/pseuds/rhapsodie
Summary: As the strange disease befalling the barony picks up in intensity, Tristian struggles to understand his feelings for the baroness. A close call in battle and a very strange book from Linzi only complicate matters.
Relationships: The Baroness/Tristian (Pathfinder: Kingmaker)
Series: Stolen Sunshine [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1835689
Comments: 3
Kudos: 24





	Night on the Gudrin River

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome back to my self-gratuitous writing about Tristian and my baroness, Lyra. Fun fact: I built her entire character around the default aasimar paladin portrait. Except she's a sorcerer. Whatever.
> 
> Not beta'd this time as I don't want to force my friends to read too much of this garbage (at once). Please forgive any errors you find. Thank.
> 
> SPOILERS for the game through the end of the Varnhold Vanishing chapter. You have been warned.

The battle was raging; Amiri let out a ferocious roar as she swung her enormous sword down, the metal sinking into the owlbear’s arm. The ferocious beast let out a roar, lunging forward to bite at her; she nimbly ducked, laughing wildly. Taking advantage of the opening, Valerie bashed her shield into the creature’s side, pushing it several feet away.

Tristian let out a ragged breath, gripping his crossbow so hard he was certain his hands were bruising. He started chanting, preparing a spell to hold the owlbear in place. Linzi, beside him, was singing a war song as she shot her crossbow in an endless stream of bolts.

Lyra unleashed several firebolts at the owlbear from the other side of the arena, who was standing back up with another roar. Enraged, it charged at the baroness with dizzying speed, knocking her onto the ground. Tristian felt his heart jump into his throat, panic building. The owlbear lifted a paw, slamming it into her abdomen. He saw her mouth move, possibly in a yell, but he couldn’t hear above the rushing in his ears. 

Distantly, he was aware he was shouting, but all he could focus on were those golden eyes, narrowed in pain, growing steadily dimmer. That light… her light, he couldn’t lose it. Not now, not ever. Tristian abandoned the spell he was casting and sprinted to her as fast as he could, knowing it was a foolish move, but not particularly caring.

He crouched down in the blood-soaked dirt, gathering as much divine energy as he could. Above him, a shadow fell; he spared a quick glance up and saw Valerie, holding her shield in front of him for protection. He looked back at Lyra.  
  
Her face was pale, so very pale, and it terrified him. She was curled up, clutching her abdomen, from which he could see blood pouring, staining her clothes and hands a cruel red. As gently as he could, he grabbed her hands, pulling them away to better assess the damage. A trio of slashes crossed her stomach, deep enough that it made him feel sick to look at.

The cleric took a deep breath, steadying himself. He was a healer. He had seen worse, fixed worse; he would fix this. Still being as gentle as possible, he placed one hand directly on the worst cut. Lyra let out a whimper and he winced.

“Tristian, I…” she started, tears welling in her eyes. Tristian’s heart fell into the pit of his stomach.

“Shh, it’ll be okay. I’ve got you. Stay with me, okay?” he pleaded, channeling the strongest healing spell he could muster. The light emanating from his palm was almost blinding, but he didn’t care, keeping his eyes fixed on Lyra’s face.

He ignored the rest of the battle: Amiri, hollering as she slashed away; Octavia, unleashing a series of fireballs that filled the area with smoke; Valerie, pushing the owlbear farther and farther away from their fallen leader to keep them safe; Linzi, casting spells to daze and distract the enemy while the others attacked.

By the time he was done healing, the battle had ended. He pulled his hands away, checking his work. Three pink marks covered her abdomen, and she was still covered in blood, but the cuts were gone. Tristian let out a sigh of relief, looking back at Lyra’s face. She wore an odd expression; he couldn’t quite piece it together. _Perhaps she’s upset that there’s still a scar?_

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m afraid you’ll have three new scars for your collection.” Lyra frowned at him in response. _Is she really so upset about it? That seems unlike her,_ he pondered.

The rest of the party had joined them. Linzi and Octavia, in particular, had joined Tristian and Lyra on the ground, the latter reaching for the baroness’s shoulder to see if she was alright. 

Lyra ignored all of them, now full-on glaring at Tristian. “Tristian,” she said, voice as sharp as Amiri’s sword, “ _never_ do that again.”

Tristian felt himself frowning, confused. _Do what exactly?_

The aasimar continued on, ignoring his stare, “You could have died! Then where would we be? You jumped _right in front of an owlbear, Tristian!_ ” Her voice had gotten steadily louder as she went; she was fully shouting now. Her eyes were sparkling; he realized with a start that she was fighting back tears.

“I…” He swallowed. “I had to. I couldn’t let you die.”

“I wasn’t going to die that fast! You could have waited until there wasn’t an owlbear right next to me, at least!”

He didn’t exactly have a defense. He knew, technically, he could have waited a few seconds more. But the thought of her being there, cold, alone, and in pain… he couldn’t bear it. He looked into her eyes, bright with fury, and for a split second he saw them dim, dying, dead. Jerkily, he turned his head to the side, looking away.

Lyra shook Octavia’s hand off of her shoulder, roughly gripping his arm. “Promise me.” She drew a shaky breath. “Promise me you won’t do that again.”

He opened his mouth, a response ready, but stopped himself. “I could promise you that, but I’d be lying.” He didn’t look back, but he heard her sigh.

“Can you at least promise to be more careful?” Her voice was soft now, so quiet he could barely hear it.

“I… I promise to try,” he said, knowing that he would fail.

Lyra seemed satisfied enough with the answer, releasing his hand and slowly standing back up, Linzi and Octavia anxiously trying to help her. Tristian followed, finally looking at the others. Valerie was holding her shoulder at an awkward angle, her shield arm hanging limply. Amiri had a few cuts, but was otherwise fine. All of them had worried looks on their faces, carefully watching their leader.

The sorceress, for her part, was determined to pretend nothing had happened now, her gaze traversing the arena until it landed on the owlbear’s initial prey: a lone goblin wearing ratty leathers, his blood-red eyes glowing menacingly. Tristian knew what Lyra was thinking: that perhaps this goblin, whom they had already heard declare his devotion for Lamashtu, was to blame for the disease affecting her people. Tristian also knew that assumption was wrong.

The goblin wasn’t to blame for the barony’s latest crisis: Tristian was.

It ate him up inside, keeping him awake at night. _I didn’t know_ , he tried to reassure himself. The counterpoint always came: _you knew enough to know it would cause harm, and you followed your orders anyway, like the pitiful creature you are._

_If I had known,_ the optimist in him said, _I wouldn’t have. I would have stopped it then, even if that meant my death._

 _No you wouldn’t,_ the realist replied. _You are a prideful coward who thought he could stop the fall-out before it got out of hand. How many deaths have you caused, how many families have you ruined?_

_… How many lies have you told?_

“... Tristian?”

Tristian jumped out of his brooding, looking at Linzi. “You okay? We’re heading out.” He looked up; sure enough, the rest of the party awaited at the entrance of the arena… as well as the goblin. _I really shouldn’t be surprised at this point_ , he chided himself.

“Yes, I’m fine. Let’s go.”

* * *

The goblin - Nok-Nok - was quite resourceful, it turned out. By the time the party had left the desolated goblin village behind, the day had grown quite late, and Lyra had declared they should make camp. At her announcement, the thief had run on ahead, only to run back to them minutes later, exclaiming, “Nok-Nok found place for camp! Nok-Nok very helpful, yes? Hero quality!”

Tristian was hesitant to follow, but he went where his baroness commanded, and if she trusted their new companion, he would do so as well. And so, the six of them followed the goblin, who led them around the craggy rocks and low-lying shrubbery lining the Gudrin river to the spot he found: a small cave, right on the water. The location meant they would be concealed from others, and anyone daring to attack the camp would be immediately noticeable.

Lyra seemed pleased, smiling warmly at Nok-Nok. “This works great, Nok-Nok, thank you. Well, let’s get to it, shall we?”

Setting up camp was rather quick; at this point, most of Lyra’s companions could likely do it in their sleep, what with how often they were on the road. Dividing up tasks was wordless; all of them tended to gravitate to the same role every time (except Nok-Nok, of course, but Lyra seemed unconcerned with him).

Tristian grabbed everyone’s bedrolls from their supplies, laying them out around the spot Amiri was clearing out for their firepit. Luckily, they were well concealed, and the overhang provided protection from any rain that might befall them, so there was no need to set up a tent. That left Linzi and Octavia free to, well, whisper conspiratorially together and send not-so-subtle glances at himself and their baroness.

“I’m going to get firewood,” Valerie declared, rubbing at her shoulder; Tristian had healed it earlier, but it clearly still bothered her. 

“I’ll come along,” Lyra said. “There’s safety in numbers.”

Tristian frowned at her. She was still pale, clothed in torn, bloodstained robes. She had assured them all a dozen times she was fine, but he didn’t believe it. Earlier had been close, too close. He was deeply uncomfortable with the thought of her out of his sight, where he wouldn’t be able to heal her if she fell.

He stood up, ready to join them, when she raised her hand. “Tristian,” she said. “I’m fine. Stay with the others.”

“But -”

“Do you not trust Valerie?” she pressed, the same fire from earlier reigniting in her eyes. “She kept us safe earlier, did she not?”

The image was back in his head: brave, valiant Valerie, standing tall with her shield, with broken, bloody Lyra in his hands. He blinked and it was gone.

“Hey, the chief’ll be fine,” Amiri chimed in. “No one else I’d rather have with me against whatever the hell gets thrown at us next!” Her lust for battle was less than reassuring.

“But what if…?” he asked, pleading with the sorceress now. The panic from earlier was rising, clawing its way up his throat. _Please, I can’t let you die._

“It’ll be fine. We’ll be right in the area, so if anything happens you’ll hear us.” The aasimar walked over to where he was, hunched over one of the bedrolls. “I promise, okay? I’m here. I’m fine.” The fire in her gaze was mostly extinguished, replaced with worry. But she was there, present and alive.

“... Very well,” Tristian finally acquiesced.

She gave him a smile, so soft and sweet and reassuring, giving his shoulder a quick squeeze before she rejoined Valerie. “We’ll be back in no more than thirty minutes,” she said.

Over in their corner, Octavia and Linzi’s whispers had picked up in fervor. He shot them a quick look, annoyed by their gossiping, but they only quieted down just long enough to wave Valerie and Lyra off before resuming. 

He tried his best to ignore the pair as he laid out the rest of the bedrolls. Nok-Nok had been oddly quiet so far; he looked for the goblin, only to find him just outside the cave, putting together some sort of contraption out of river pebbles. Tristian couldn’t help but wonder what their new companion was up to, but thought it best to leave him be for now.

Next, the deva rifled through the group’s supplies, trying to find the rations they brought. Unpacking them, he frowned; they had only brought enough for six, not expecting to have anyone join them.

“Linzi,” he said, causing the bard and the wizard to stop their chattering and look at him, “do you have any extra rations? Or rather, any ideas on how to make those we have work for seven people?”

Linzi tilted her head to the side, a sign Tristian knew she was thinking through a hundred solutions in her mind, most completely infeasible. “Hm… No, don’t think so. Ugh, I hate having to forage for food,” she whined. Octavia patted her on the back sympathetically.

Amiri barked out a laugh, “Well yeah, that’s because you look for berries like a wuss! You gotta go hunting, Linzi!”

At the mention of “food” and “hunting,” Nok-Nok perked up, abandoning his project for a moment. “Need food?” he grumbled out; then, without waiting for a response, he added, “Nok-Nok hero. Nok-Nok get food for weaklings.” He ran off before anyone could get a word in edgewise.

The other four looked at each other, perplexed. _Now what?_ Tristian was quite certain that their soft-hearted leader wouldn’t exactly be pleased that they let Nok-Nok run off on his own.

“Should we… go after him…?” he asked, tentatively.

“Probably,” Linzi responded. She looked as hesitant as he felt.

“Well,” Octavia added, “there’s only one exit here. He’s going to run into Valeria and Lyra then, right? So he won’t be alone.”

“Right, right,” Linzi agreed, a bit too quickly. “It’ll be fine! Totally… fine.” It wasn’t the most confident answer.

Normally, Tristian would argue that they should send someone with Nok-Nok, but Octavia had a point: the goblin would run into Lyra and Valerie. And that meant another person would be near Lyra to protect her if things went south. He let the topic drop.

Lyra and Valerie returned mere minutes later, Nok-Nok troublingly absent. He felt guilt stab his stomach. _I should have stopped him_.

“Nok-Nok,” he started, “he went off on his own -”

“We know,” Valerie cut him off. “We tried to stop him, but the vermin was determined to go his own way.” 

Lyra, dropping the firewood by the cleared pit, glared at Valerie. “You shouldn’t call him vermin,” she chided.

“You may call him whatever you like, but it doesn’t change what he is: a goblin. Vermin.”

Tristian sighed. _Valerie may be noble, but her arrogance shall be her downfall._ The thought was bitter in his mind; after all, hadn’t arrogance been _his own_ downfall? 

“Alright, well,” Lyra said after a moment, choosing to let Valerie’s comment go for now, “looks like we’re all set up. Linzi, you’re on dinner duty tonight, but we’ve got some time until then. Everyone take it easy for now; we’ll divide up into shifts after we eat.” The party nodded, used to this protocol. 

“In the meantime,” Lyra continued, “I desperately need to wash off.” She walked over to her pack and fished out a small bag. Tristian, not far away, could smell the lavender scent wafting from it. “Don’t worry,” she added, looking at him, “I’ll be just outside. Right within reach.”

His cheeks burned with shame as he looked away. 

Their leader left the opening of the small cave as the others settled in to relax. Linzi had dug out her manuscript and was now scribbling away, no doubt chronicling the days events; every once in a while, she would write with a little extra flourish, then look up guiltily before resuming her work; years of companionship meant that Tristian knew she had just added a little ‘embellishment’ to their story. Octavia, sitting next to the halfling, had somehow procured a bottle of wine - _she must keep her own supply_ , Tristian reasoned - and was drinking from it as she read a book. Every once in a while she would try to steal a peek at Linzi’s work, but the bard would quickly pull the parchment away from her prying eyes.

Valerie was polishing her armor, trying desperately to ignore Amiri, who, now that the campfire was started, was sharpening her longsword and boasting about landing the killing blow on the owlbear earlier.

“Man,” she exclaimed, “you should have seen it! That thing was ready to eat me, and then - slash! My sword went right in.”

“We know,” Valerie commented primly. “We _were_ there, after all.”

“You might have been there, but did you actually _see_ it?! Hell, half of you guys were busy looking at the chief! You missed all the action!” the barbarian exclaimed.

_Lyra…_

_I hope she’s alright._ The scene from earlier in the day haunted him anew; Tristian bit his lip to dispel it. _Perhaps I should go to her…?_ The image formed in his mind: him, approaching her by the river. Her hair would be down, dripping into the water, and she would be dressed in nothing but river water... He stopped that thought. _Not here, not now,_ he scolded himself. _That would be inappropriate._

All of his feelings for her were inappropriate and overwhelming. He looked at his pack uneasily. The book Linzi had loaned him, “Nights in Katapesh,” sat innocently inside, waiting for him to open it. _I promised myself I would read it when I had the time. I have the time now; I should read it._ There had to be some name to how he’d been feeling, and Linzi had assured him the answer was within the book’s pages.

But what would knowing do? He was a liar, a traitor; soon enough Lyra would find out, and anything between them would end. _I am her ruination_ . His hand reached for his holy symbol, spinning it absentmindedly in his palm. _No, I am better off not reading it. I should stay away, spare her from more pain._

“Hey Tristian,” Linzi called from across the camp, “are you alright? You’ve been kind of just standing there for minutes now.”

“Ah, I’m fine Linzi, but thank you.”

 _Linzi._ Linzi had leant him that book, had promised him it would help. She had done him a kindness, and to ignore the book was to ignore that kindness. _I should read it._

It was a flimsy excuse, he knew, but it was an excuse nonetheless. Glancing furtively around the camp, feeling oddly self-conscious, he opened up his pack, grabbing the book and a small lantern he kept for reading.

He didn’t want to read so close to the others; this felt… private, special. And besides, Amiri would never stop teasing him if she discovered he was reading anything vaguely romantic. But where to go? He looked around.

 _There!_ Near the edge of their campsite, a large, flat rock jutted out over the river. _Perfect._ He hurried over and made himself as comfortable as he could be.

 _The river is beautiful at this hour._ The setting sun reflected off the water, scattering across it in a thousand fragments of gold and orange. _It must be nice to visit in the summer._ He wondered if Lyra would agree. Perhaps, someday, he could take her here. They could have a picnic and read, and maybe at one point he could grab her hand as they walked along the bank…

He was stalling. The book sat in his lap, taunting him. _Enough._ He cracked open the cover.

* * *

Tristian turned the page, frowning. If he hadn’t been confused before, he certainly was now. The book’s writing was, well, mediocre at best, in his opinion. It featured a noblewoman from Brevoy traversing across Katapesh to meet the man she was betrothed to. Despite this, the book spent no time speaking of her intended, focusing instead on her interactions with the barbarian chieftain employed to keep her safe during her journey.

Furthermore, the descriptions made little sense to him. Why did the reader need to know that the heroine had ample bosoms, wide, child-bearing hips, and a plump rear? It added nothing to the story, as far as he could tell, and that was ignoring the focus the author lavished on the barbarian’s wide shoulders and large hands. _Perhaps later someone has to identify them by appearance?_

 _Ah!_ This page seemed more promising.

_‘Jane watched Arturo’s large hands as they easily split the firewood to a more manageable size. She wanted those hands all over her, to touch her until she went mad with desire. He traced his finger down the side of the wood, and she gasped, the movement causing her sizable breasts to heave. She looked up to see him smirking at her. She wished to wipe that smirk off of his perfectly-formed mouth, perhaps by covering it with her own._

_“See something you like?” Arturo asked smugly._ _  
_ _  
_ _“O-of course not!” she said haughtily._

_“Oh really?” he replied, his voice lowering to a growl that made her flesh tremble with excitement. Jane ached all over for him, with his rough hands and musky scent.’_

Tristian’s frown deepened. The longing was similar to what he felt, sometimes, around Lyra, but something about it was just… off. He kept reading, shifting closer to his lamp in the falling darkness.

* * *

_‘… She dropped her head against the back of the sofa, and he continued to shower her blazing skin, to caress her shoulders, smothering her with his rough manly smell, driving her out of her head, carrying her away on waves of lust.’_

Tristian had been reading for hours now, and he was still confused. _What sort of book did Linzi give me?!_ It was all forceful and angry and _physical_ and Tristian didn’t understand it at all.

“What are you reading?”

Tristian yelped, slamming the book shut. He looked up at Lyra, his cheeks burning. “Ah! Lyra! I didn’t notice you there!” He stood up hastily, trying to act natural.

Her hair was still damp, and she had changed into a clean set of robes. Had he not known better, he would have said she hadn’t almost died earlier that day. He looked her over, reassuring himself that she was there, healthy and whole. She said nothing in response to his staring, just tilted her head to glance down at the accursed book in his hand. _Oh, right. She did ask._

“It’s some…” he pondered the right word for the novel, “treatise I learned about from Linzi,” he settled on. “I asked her for advice and she recommended I read… this.” He lifted the book up, showing her the title. “She said it’s the best you can get about… the passions.” _Why am I telling her this?_

“Is it? If so, I wouldn’t mind reading that book myself.” Her wide eyes looked at him earnestly, filled with curiosity and… embarrassment? It was oddly endearing. He wondered why she was so interested, but… He couldn’t say no. _Perhaps all mortals enjoy this sort of thing?_

“I… here.” He handed her the book. “Maybe you’ll get more pleasure from it than I could.” She took it gratefully from him, stashing it away in one of the many pockets hidden in her robes.

“Thank you. So,” she continued, “what confused you about it?”

“I thought I could wrap my head around some… issues,” he said. “No, not issues - problems… that are bothering me.” Apparently, he was the height of eloquence today. “To find the words for something I cannot express. But instead I only became more confused,” he admitted.

The irony of the conversation hit him: here he was, discussing his inability to express his emotions… with the very person that made him feel those emotions in the first place.

 _Perhaps I should back out now. This is foolish,_ he reprimanded himself. The light from his lantern flickered in her hair. _She’s… so beautiful._ He tore his gaze away, letting out a chuckle at his own helplessness. _Around her, I am speechless, yet all I wish to do is talk to her, tell her my every thought and hear hers in return._

“Sometimes I admire how easily you choose the words for what’s on your mind.”

“Oh, Tristian…” she sighed, the sound all soft and lovely. It made Tristian feel warm inside, a thousand butterflies taking flight in his stomach.

She always made him feel warm.

“You always try to find words for something that can’t be described.”

He looked back at her, confused. Her eyes were soft in the dim light, looking at him with an emotion he couldn’t name. Her eyes reminded him of the river earlier, a kaleidoscope of sunlight. His heart thudded in his chest, ever louder. “What are you talking about?” She didn’t reply, so he elaborated: “The greatest wisdom of Golarion is expressed in the words of numerous books - and even the divine mercy of Sarenrae finds its reflection in her sacred text…” He trailed off, unsure what else to say.

Tentatively, she reached out - _why is her hand shaking?_ \- and grabbed his hand. “And yet the answers you seek cannot be found on the pages of a book,” she replied, a blush settling on her cheeks.

Her skin was soft, and so, so warm. _I could hold her hand forever,_ Tristian thought. It reminded him of the sun’s embrace, her warmth filling him until he was all light and joy. He had touched her before - had even touched her earlier, in his mad rush to heal her - but never like this. Never without a practical reason but simply for the comfort of physical contact. Whether the touch was more to reassure himself or her, he wasn’t certain.

“You have such warm hands,” he said, before he could stop himself. “Like you are full of sunshine.” He regretted the words as soon as they left his mouth. Clearly the book had had an effect on him, if he was spouting such declarations. He smiled at her apologetically. “That probably sounded as terrible as the book.”

Lyra shook her head and let go of his hand, a loss he felt as keenly in his heart as Sarenrae’s absence. Tristian watched, holding his breath, as she slowly moved her hand, still trembling, up to his face, where she cupped his cheek so softly he barely felt it. “Not at all,” she replied, her voice almost a whisper.

Tristian closed his eyes, raising his hand up to push her own more solidly against his face. _I never knew a touch could feel so good_ , the deva thought absently. He felt like he was on fire, every nerve tingling with a strange energy. In the past, his thoughts whirled and roared in Lyra’s presence, but they were silent, save for a lone feeling, increasing in intensity with each heartbeat. He wanted to show her, he wanted her to know, to understand.

He turned his head, nuzzling her hand, and softly placed a kiss onto her hand. “Full of sunshine…” he thought aloud. _Please, warm me forever._ She let out a soft gasp.

Cold and brutal, the reality of the situation came crashing down upon him. He was a traitor, a fallen deva, the one responsible for hundreds, if not thousands, of deaths. It could even be argued that the battle earlier, her near-death, was solely his fault. Yet here he was, pretending that was untrue, that he was just some mortal who had fallen in love - _love, is that what I feel?_ \- with a dear companion who loved him too, that they had a future completely unmarked by blood.

He didn’t deserve this.

She didn’t deserve the heartbreak it would bring.

He wanted her anyway.

_No!_

It took all of his willpower, but he managed to push her hand away, taking a step back to increase the space between them. “Forgive me!” he pleaded. “Forgive me, I’m out of line!”

He opened his eyes just in time to see the hurt flash across her face, still flushed crimson. “I… I pray to Sarenrae you aren’t angry with me,” he choked out. “Believe me, I care very much for you.”

 _I care too much for you_ , he added silently.

He turned around and fled before she could respond, leaving her by the river, illuminated by his forgotten lantern and the stars overhead.

**Author's Note:**

> Well, there you have it. Oddly hard to write, probably because the whole scene is maaaaaaybe my favorite in the romance? (or maybe I just suck lol)
> 
> Random thought that entered my head while writing: “None fanfic with left angst”. Don't ask me what it means, for I have no clue.
> 
> Please feel free to let know what you think!


End file.
